Elsberry: Patricia Elsberry not only lived, she flourished

Updated 9:37 pm, Saturday, March 29, 2014

In 1984, it was lung cancer, and four years after that, in 1988, it was throat and tongue cancer. Back in those days, people often didn't survive the Big C, but my mom did.

She was a fighter.

Before that, it was alcohol. But 2014 marked her 41st year of being clean and sober.

Fighter? Damn straight.

Oh, I almost forgot about the stroke. She recovered from that, too. That happened a couple of years ago in Los Angeles when my two sisters Victoria (and her daughter Lauren) and Sheryl -- with mom in tow -- went to La La Land as Victoria sought a cooking job and to live the California dream. The stroke put the job search on hold and after some time in the hospital, she was back home, recovering by spending her afternoons in the sun, loving the warm Cali weather.

And over the course of raising four kids, managing a house and having a pretty awesome side job of baking wedding cakes (and all other kinds of delicious desserts), Patricia Elsberry lived one hell of a life. And I mean lived. She traveled the world, was friends with some pretty famous people and spent 55 years married to the man of her dreams.

Who could ask for more?

If she could have made it to July, my mom would have reached the big 80, but she didn't, passing away this past Monday. Over the past few months, she battled pneumonia (and so many other ailments), slowly going downhill but still fighting each and every day. Just about a week ago, she had a series of seizures, and despite a few moments of clarity in the days since, that started the clock ticking that the end was coming.

My mom was born in Minneapolis on July 5, 1934. As a little girl growing up, her father, John -- my sister Victoria and I called him "Grandpa Gumball" because he'd always give us a penny to put in his gumball machine that he had by the front door -- always told her that the Fourth of July fireworks were part of her celebration. It took a while before mom finally wised up that people were celebrating our nation's independence and not her birthday.

Pat lived in a small two-story house on Hennepin Avenue and attended Edison High School. She went to the University of Minnesota, majored in journalism -- where she met my father, Richard -- and for a while worked for United Press International. But when I came along in September of 1957, mom became a full-time housewife.

Victoria arrived in October of 1958, Sheryl in November of 1966, and my other sister Kathleen in November of 1970, and mom made sure we all were raised the right way. She taught us all how to cook and sew and to do laundry. She even taught me how to drive -- but she had an ulterior motive as I became the family taxi driver, taking my younger sisters here and there and everywhere so she didn't have to.

Smart woman.

While we lived in Louisville, Ky., she volunteered at Actor's Theater, cooking meals for the actors and actresses performing in that month's play. Once, she sent Phyllis Diller a letter telling how she put a bowl of cornflakes in the oven when my father said he wanted a hot breakfast. Diller loved it so much, she used it in her comedy act. Mom still has the letter, along with a signed, personalized caricature of Diller. Mom was also good pals with Jane Powell and rubbed elbows with Dave Brubeck, Frank Converse, Theodore Bikel, Rod McKuen, Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller.

When General Electric dissolved, my father retired from his division of industrial press relations in 1985 after 31 years and took early retirement to take mom around the world. They went to Venice (there's a great picture of the two of them riding in a gondola), they went to Thailand (there's a great picture of the two of them riding on elephants), they went to London, Paris, Rome, Venice, Africa, Turkey, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Mexico, Prague, Budapest and Tuscany, Italy. And they also went to their favorite place, Cape Cod, where they could go out to eat or walk along the beach at the National Seashore or read books or, basically, just enjoy life. Which they did.

Recently, my sister came across an old piece of notebook paper that my mom had typed a short poem on almost 40 years ago. It read:

"You asked me ... what I would do ... if left alone ... I could draw, paint, sew. I could be an indulgent mother. I could join groups. I could finish the ironing.